Memories
by T'Reilani
Summary: Steve used to love Christmas. This year, it's a little harder. (Late) Christmas gift for 95winters; could tie in to "Lost" and "The End Is Where We Begin" if you squint really hard.


**A/N: This was written as a Christmas gift for 95winters, but sadly, my computer decided to completely crash and take most of my recent documents with it. This is my attempt at a rewrite, hence the lateness. Sorry about that! (At least I managed it by New Year's...) This version kind of turned into "angsty Steve and Bucky conversations"...not exactly what I had in mind...but I hope you like it anyway. Merry Christmas, Happy Birthday, and Happy New Year!**

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><p>Christmas.<p>

It used to be the best time of the year. He remembered starting the countdown to Christmas sometime in September, even when his mother would laugh and shake her head. "Be patient, Steve," she'd tell him. "It's not going to get any earlier, no matter when you start counting."

The first snow always made it more exciting. Bucky would show up at the door, dragging a battered wooden toboggan up the stairs behind him, and join Steve in coaxing his mother to let him go out for a while. "Come on, just for a little bit? I'll keep an eye on him. Promise."

It was never as uneventful as they promised, of course. Steve had broken both bones in his arm the year he was twelve, when the toboggan went off course and slid into a tree. Despite (or perhaps because of) the two boys' insistence that the accident hadn't really been _that_ bad, and it could have been so much worse, Steve's mother hadn't let him go sledding again the rest of that winter. Bucky had still showed up every day, without fail, even if all they could do was sit inside and draw, or talk, or study.

Finally it would be December, and then Christmas Eve. Steve was never quite tall enough, or strong enough, to help put up the few decorations they had, but his mother did her best, and they enjoyed what they had. Steve was sick more Christmas Eves than not, but it was routine at that point. Bucky had stopped knocking sometime around the second year he'd been friends with Steve, and usually just showed up in the front room with a grin and a plate of something his mother had sent over. Steve would roll his eyes, ask if Bucky knew which house he lived in, and then the two of them would finish setting up whatever wasn't out yet.

Christmas itself was always a good day, no matter how sick Steve was or how hard the rest of the year had been. There was always food - his mother's cooking was the best, no matter what anyone else said - and friends who dropped by, Bucky's whole family and a few neighbors and three other nurses from the hospital, and then church services if he was well enough to go.

Best time of the year.

Steve stared at the giant Christmas tree in the center of the room with a barely audible sigh, wondering (not for the first time) why Stark felt the need to decorate Avengers Tower with so many lights that it could easily belong in Las Vegas. He was used to New York, and it still made his eyes hurt.

Of course, it was _Tony Stark_. He probably thought he was toning it down by only putting one Christmas tree in the living room on Steve's floor.

Steve glanced across the room at the silent figure perched on the end of the couch. He hadn't moved in hours, even when the blinding lights switched on and music started echoing up from the ground floor.

How long had it been since _he'd_ paid any attention to Christmas Eve?

Well, the same seventy-year span since 1945, plus a few extra years, Steve reasoned. Good thing he hadn't said that out loud.

The silence stretched on, becoming awkward after a few minutes. Steve cleared his throat uncomfortably, staring at the tree. "You doing okay?"

"Yeah." Bucky didn't look at him.

Steve forced himself not to wince. They'd said this might happen, when he'd been found almost two months ago in Chicago. _He does know you_, the woman had promised. _It may not seem like it. Give him time._

That wasn't easy.

The floor shuddered slightly, and both Steve and Bucky grimaced at the rising music volume. Stark's Christmas party was escalating, apparently.

"You want to go somewhere else?" Steve tried to sound casual. "The balcony's usually a little quieter."

Bucky didn't answer out loud, but his quick glance toward the door and slight movement indicated what Steve assumed was a yes.

"Okay." Steve tried to smile. _Act normal,_ he'd been told.

It wasn't until they were outside on the balcony, staring across the city, that Bucky finally broke the silence.

"It's changed."

"The city?" Steve stared down at the neon lights eight stories below. "Yeah. It's a lot to get used to."

Bucky's metal hand clicked slightly on the balcony railing. "Not just the city."

"Christmas, too." Steve glanced over at him for a second. Bucky's hair was falling in front of his face; Steve couldn't see his expression. "Hey, you remember when we were kids?"

Bucky didn't answer. Steve winced. _Don't push for memories,_ she'd said. _He'll talk when he's ready._

But just as Steve was about to apologize, Bucky looked up at him with half a smile and said quietly, "The year you broke your arm on the toboggan?"

"Well, trying not to remember that one." Steve had to grin.

"Pretty sure your mom threatened _me_ with a broken arm if it ever happened again." Bucky went quiet, metal fingers clicking restlessly again.

_Ouch._ Steve looked down over the balcony again, trying to think of a way to not lose the moment. "It was worth it."

"Yeah." The balcony went quiet again as both of them ran out of things to say. Steve looked for something, anything, to keep the conversation going, but what did you say after years of your best friend being dead?

After several long, uncomfortable moments, it was Bucky that broke the silence again. "I don't remember everything." The words were short, cut off, as if he didn't quite know how to say them. "I don't remember much."

"That's okay." Steve turned back to look at him, but Bucky was still staring down at the street. "You don't have to."

Bucky raised one shoulder in a slight shrug and didn't say anything, but his jaw tightened.

"I mean it, Buck. It's okay if you don't remember."

Bucky finally turned to face him, but didn't - couldn't? - look him in the eye. "I..." His jaw worked, as if the words were catching. "I want to."

Did he know how much that meant?

Steve blinked, couldn't answer for a minute, and finally reached out to put a hand on Bucky's shoulder. For once, Bucky didn't flinch.

"You will. You'll remember."


End file.
